


There is an Empty Space Inside My Heart Where the Weeds Take Root

by mytimehaspassed



Series: Love is to Share Verse [2]
Category: Trinity (TV 2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Murder, Serial Killers, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytimehaspassed/pseuds/mytimehaspassed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lancelot was small, he was called something else. It comes to him in his dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is an Empty Space Inside My Heart Where the Weeds Take Root

**THERE IS AN EMPTY SPACE INSIDE MY HEART WHERE THE WEEDS TAKE ROOT**  
TRINITY  
Lancelot!Jonty/Galahad!Ross  
 **WARNINGS** : AU; spoilers for the series; mentions of killing  
From [this](http://mytimehaspassed.livejournal.com/243672.html) fanmix right here  
First: [Love is to Share Mine is for You](http://community.livejournal.com/andletmestand/21491.html)

  
Act I

When Lancelot was small, he was called something else. It comes to him in his dreams.

(Ross comes to him in his dreams.)

And Lancelot pretends that Ross is Galahad even when he talks nothing like him, even when he smiles and touches his hair and his touch is soft and swollen instead of wild, instead of biting, when Galahad will push Lancelot against the wardrobe and they will bleed and Lancelot will swallow Galahad’s moans and they won’t care if the CCTV camera swivels their way and blinks red, and Lancelot’s hands will tighten in Galahad’s and they will both feel their muscles shake with adrenaline. And Lancelot will pretend that Ross is Galahad, even when Ross calls him Jonty.

(Even when Ross kisses him and it tastes the same.)

Lancelot never tells Galahad about his dreams, about Ross, about Cooper’s mumbling affirmations about the boys they used to be, never speaking their names, never saying Ross, never saying Jonty, always glancing up towards the ceiling as if Maltravers could hear every word. Lancelot never tells Galahad about the boys they took over, the boys that were daft enough to give in, the boys that never knew what was coming.

Galahad and his rowing pictures, his trophies, the way he strokes the photo of a boy he used to know, the boy Lancelot’s replaced, Lancelot never tells him about the way they were born.

(Lancelot never tells him about the boys whose lives they stole.)

 

Act II

(He remembers Jonty in shapes and colors and smells and the lift of his own smile in the reflection of the tea kettle and the way Jonty would curl his hand around Ross’ and wouldn’t let go, the same warm palm that Galahad curls around Lancelot’s, and it’s jarring sometimes to be somewhere and remember something that wasn’t ever really him, not really, not when he’s a completely different person, not when he knows what Jonty was made of, but never who he was. Jonty was light and sound and Lancelot is neither of those things, and Galahad could never be Ross, not when Jonty tells him that Ross was perfect, not when Galahad can never be fixed, no matter how many times he comes back bruised and hollow and crying in the dark space where Lancelot’s neck meets his jaw.

Lancelot remembers, and maybe that’s more than enough.)

 

Act III

Cooper gives Galahad medicine in bland, unmarked pills that Galahad swallows without help, and Lancelot waits with him while he falls asleep, running fingers through his hair as Galahad sinks and sinks and lets go, his hand unfolding in Lancelot’s.

(It’s always like this.)

And maybe Cooper thinks Galahad will be fixed one day, but Lancelot knows better, Maltravers knows better, and waiting and watching and wishing won’t turn Galahad into the soldier that he needs to be. Lancelot will kiss every bruise, his angry mouth and sharp hands, and Galahad will bite his tongue until it bleeds, and they won’t bother closing the door and Lancelot will bury his teeth somewhere on Galahad’s skin and they will both scream, but nobody will come running.

(Nobody ever comes running.)

Lancelot will use his nails and Galahad will use his and they won’t stop until Cooper turns on the record player, loud and still and rough against their vibrations, something old and meaningful, and Lancelot will laugh and Galahad’s tears will wash away the blood and they will kiss softly then, chaste, and it will say more than either of them could ever hope.

They will do it again the next night.

(And again and again and again)

And no one will ever tell them not to.

(But Lancelot knows that it’s only a matter of time and maybe if he gives enough of himself to Galahad, Galahad will turn dark and ruthless and as cold as Lancelot is, and maybe that will be enough and maybe Maltravers will be able to let him live and maybe they won’t have to fix him anymore and maybe they won’t have to leave this place and maybe they won’t ever be apart and maybe and maybe and maybe)

 

Act IV

(He remembers he remembers he remembers in the soft space between his bed and the wall and the swell of heat from Galahad’s palms shifting across him, Galahad’s fingers burying themselves deep underneath the waistband of Lancelot’s pants and he remembers that they used to be more than this, more than just touch and taste, he remembers that they used to be more than just the wet slide of tongues and the press of lips on skin, they used to be something that Lancelot couldn’t even begin to name, let alone explain to Galahad, who looks at the picture of the boy he used to love and cries, who won’t remember his name or the way he looked, but knew that they loved each other just the same.

Lancelot doesn’t remember what love feels like, doesn’t remember the way Jonty used to feel about Ross, doesn’t remember the way Jonty would speak to him, the soft timbre that he used to take, but he knows that it was something like that, something that Jonty and Ross had kept even after death. He remembers that they used to love, that they used to want.

He remembers he remembers he remembers, but it’s not enough, not everything, and maybe he doesn’t remember what love feels like, but Galahad is only too happy to show him.)

 

Act V

There’s this thing inside of him that needs to be let out.

(There’s this thing inside of him that screams and claws and tears its way out and he doesn’t fight it and he isn’t afraid and Galahad looks at him like maybe it’s wrong and Maltravers looks at him like he’s the most proud of anybody and Cooper writes down everything he says in his little notebook when Lancelot tells him that he only feels alive when there’s something dying in his hands and it’s not funny, but Lancelot laughs, anyway, and Cooper writes that down, too.)

He knows he can never stop being who he is.

(He knows he can never stop.)

Galahad asks him where everything went wrong, and Lancelot says that nothing went wrong, pressing their mouths together until he can only taste blood.

(“Everything went right,” Lancelot says, and doesn’t pull back even when he feels Galahad’s tears slide hot down his own cheeks.)

Next: [Your Heart Will Break Whatever You Do](http://community.livejournal.com/andletmestand/21525.html)


End file.
